


Destiny Itself

by Val_Creative



Series: Warlock & His Dollophead [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Related, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emerson E. was not a toy collector. Personally, he saw no use for them. Until his nephew’s beloved Christmas present becomes fully grown and thinks he’s a damn wizard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destiny Itself

**Author's Note:**

> (A very special thank you to my friends on Skype who encouraged this on, even when I was whining, and The Merlin Family as well as The Warlock and His King Network on Tumblr for being a wonderfully excitable bunch ❤ ❤ ❤ )
> 
> Day #3: "first time"

*

 

Emerson E. was not a toy collector. Personally, he saw no use for them.

But he did adore his twin sister's little boy. Mordred believed unicorns were real (but far too shy for anyone to get close to, even in the deep, winter woods of Morgana's estate) and that the rainbows in the sky tasted like coloured candies from the vending machines at the movie theatre.

Mordred, bless his young, foolish optimism, also believed in heroes, in the great stories of knights and wizards and maidens fair.

So the next Christmas present had been a very rare antique  _[King Arthur toy](http://data5.blog.de/media/011/3461011_2fd66afde9_m.jpeg)_ from some popular, old telly program. Probably a special on the Beeb.

His nephew took a shining to it, prancing around the corridors and ordering his stuffed animals with his newest toy.

Morgana and her off-and-on-again boyfriend Agravaine had kissed Emerson's cheek and thanked him for coming by. He didn't know how the King Arthur ended up in his bag, but after a semi-frantic call from his twin, Emerson promised to return it during the weekend. The thirty-year-old had sighed to himself, chucking it onto the tattered sofa.

He was hungry, possibly for some leftover sausage-bean soup, but also needed to do laundry.

Emerson brushed the remaining snowflakes out of his hair, coming out of the bedroom having thrown dirty clothes into a bin. The stretch of ever-long silence had been difficult since Lance's death. There had never been a man with a kinder heart. Lance had been his closest friend, like a brother. Not just a uni roommate.

Lance had known about… the _strange_ occurrences that were common around Emerson. Hovering objects, major drops in temperature when Emerson was wrecked with stress or lost his temper—but Lance _knew_ and accepted him, and promised to keep it a secret.

And did so, right into his grave.

The one person he could share his fears with, his doubts about himself—gone.

The loneliness was suffocating and Emerson almost prayed for a distraction, for someone who _understood_ him, would befriend him. Someone who wouldn't run for the hills if… Emerson had… a _strange_ occurrence.

And he nearly dropped his laundry bin on his feet when he found a man draped in bright yellow robes poking his sofa with a sword.

Emerson backed up a step, eyes rounding. "What the fuck… ?"

The bloke was _armoured_. Gauntlets, sabatons, vambraces, cuisses on his legs—the metal creaked audibly when the man's joints shifted.

A wide, crooked smile appeared on the man's— _oh god no where did the King Arthur toy go, oh no, no_ —Arthur's face and he lowered Excalibur.

"Merlin!"

A coil of heat bunched in Emerson's chest, his breath shaking.

"You've alive," he muttered, eyeing the toy-now-man. "You can't be… "

Arthur looked down at himself, unimpressed by the billowing outfit and the Pendragon sigil glaring on the yellow. "Bit of a shock, I'll admit."

"No, no. You are _alive_." Emerson gaped, motioning awkwardly with his bin. "You are… a bloody talking action figure, how is this—wait, _MERLIN_?"

"Yes, Merlin. You."

Unlike the tiny action figure, King Arthur's hair was the color of pale corn-silk, and with no furry beard in sight.

Arthur looked … boyish. _Eternal_.

He didn't move back, only stiffened in place, appearing lost as Arthur's gauntlets touched Emerson's bony shoulders. "You don't remember," he said, as if stating fact. The chill of plated armour then cradled Emerson's face, as Arthur leaned in, his bold blue eyes sincere. "I can help you."

Emerson's lips felt numb on the surface. He didn't know what to do—hurtle this living stranger off and yell about how mad this was, close his eyes and wish him _away_ , give into the lightheaded sensation creeping up the back of his head and pass out on the floor with his laundry bin now upended.

"… What don't I remember?"

"It'll be alright, Merlin," Arthur whispered, nodding. This close to him, Emerson was sure he could count each strand of light eyelash on him, every sun-browned freckle on Arthur's nose. "Just let me take it from here."

Merlin. _Merlin_.

The heat in his chest sprung free, overtaking and washing over him. The irises of Merlin's eyes faded into a shimmering vibrant-gold, his body shivering in anticipation. Arthur's mouth didn't taste like manufactured plastic, and neither did the rest of him. Salty-sweat and the tinge of iron, rolling against Merlin's tongue, as he dragged lips to Arthur's collarbone.

It was halfway out of his own jumper— blood pounding in his skull and moaning into Arthur's neck, already unbuckling the armour and pushing everything off— that Merlin… _Emerson_ … whoever he was now was about to let himself be fucked by his nephew's Christmas present.

His first time with anyone and it was King _fucking_ Arthur of the Britons.

Not only that, but he wasn't supposed to be _real_.

They don't fuck. At least not yet.

Merlin can't figure out what the hell he wanted, let alone relax enough to prepare for a fat cock up his arse.

Arthur, golden and radiant, and most definitely _living_ , swept the black crop of bangs from Merlin's forehead. His hips straddled by the opening of Merlin's hair-dappled legs, where Arthur stood shirtless between them.

"I've never known you to be an exceptionally bright thinker, Merlin," he said, less done in malice, but in amusement. Arthur's finger tapped Merlin's skin. "What is it? Speak your mind."

"I… _jesus_ , am I really here?"

Arthur's expression softened at the doubtful, awed question. "Yes, I believe you are," he told him, firmly.

"… Are you?" Merlin asked, looking hopeful.

" _Yes_ , you idiot."

"Oi," he snapped, "you try having two lifetimes banging around in here."

Merlin made a face, despite the warm, cordial kiss placed to the top of his head. He could make due with the usual glowing fragments of memories—of Emerson E's childhood, growing up with his sister, being in and out of the foster homes in London, getting a journalism major.

But then _these_ memories galloping in—running from cloaked men with axes through miles of woods, Gaius serving him dinner, fighting off Cockatrice while bound with chains on his knees, Freya and Gwaine and Kilgharrah and the Druids…

"They're all dead," Merlin whispered, hazy-eyed. "Everyone."

"But we're here."

"Because of you," Arthur said, fingers playing with Merlin's neck. "We're here because of _you_."

And it didn't manage to soften the blow, but hugging his arms around Arthur, feeling his arms hug in return, steadied him.

 

*


End file.
